photo by Scott Grueber
When you love someone but they leave, you try to forget about them.
That was a universal rule.
People will put their hearts and minds into fulfilling the ways of the sacred "list" of things to do after a break up. Accept-delete-feel-challenge-be honest-don't look back were the essential words to remember.
A.D.F.C.BH.DLB. What a mouthful, you said.
How we wish there was a better acronym for the forgetful.
Ultimately, all who find themselves at lost will worship the list like getting over someone was as easy as crossing another item off a disposable notepad.
"People will, however, linger in your words, in your dreams, reveries... and all you can do is sit there watching the clips go over and over in your head and the words of the past were dancing on your tongue like clouds pummeling you gently with seemingly innocent raindrops..."
You stopped writing because you are no Woolf.
You attempt to be cool with your endless verses that will never make sense. They never go anywhere but stay on the pages of your old, coffee stained hardbound. You should've opted to get something more liquid-proof, or klutz-proof. Alice-proof.
Listen. He's happy now. That is the truth. There's no amount of luck that can assure you he'll come back, take you in once more, and live the life you two have always dreamed of. He's got his shit together. You clearly don't. He's way more successful now than what you have originally thought he'd be. You're clearly engulfed in the bleak winds of the future. He. got. a. haircut. You're still hoarding split ends and regrets, now hanging way lower than your natural waistline.
Face it. You're a piece of hot Scheiße.
But you believe he needs you. You know he does. Yes, despite his obvious success. He needs you to knock senses back to him, to straighten him up. You could be the cure. You are the cure to his madness. He said, warned about, that he might do something as stupid as make her fall without the intention of catching (even watching her fall into his trap). He's in it for the fun, the ill thrill. You knew he was doing it to spite you and say, I can do worse.
You understand the pain he must have gone through. He has been looking through the eyes of hate. Even before you came. Even after you left. You blame yourself for his demise. So you sing. And silently write in the corner of Forgottensville.
How could you treat me this way?
leaving without giving me a sense
of security
am I simply
for convenience sake
staying
For friends that won't stay
For a lover that won't give away
his hurt for me to erase
I want to chase all the black and blue
looking through
the hateful eyes of the alley cat
I can't help but write and think. I think and write about you. I don't miss you. I miss the pain you caused me by looking further out than what's there of Us. I don't want you back. I just don't want you to love another better than me. I don't love you anymore. I need you to stay lonely, and keep you wondering why you feel that way. There's a selfish part of me who believes you still think about me. I was your lost. I was something important. I am important. I believe you still c--
Sure he cares, honey... sure he does.
I've accepted defeat. I deleted you off social media. I felt all the sufferings you dragged my way and I challenged myself to be honest. But I kept looking back.
I keep singing to you. I keep singing about you. I kept you in my heart.
- Singing to Lou Reed
photo by Haley Powers
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